


The Walk To Your Door

by masterroadtripper



Category: Good Will Hunting (1997)
Genre: Consent, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterroadtripper/pseuds/masterroadtripper
Summary: Three snippets of time in Will and Chuckie's lives.  Just a tale of two kids from Southie against the world.
Relationships: Will Hunting/Chuckie Sullivan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter takes place when Will and Chuckie are 16, however, consent laws in most places that I've ever had experience with state 16+ can consent to any sexual act. 
> 
> This story is always 100% completely consensual between all parties involved.
> 
> The next chapters will happen when they are 17 and then 21, so it depends on your personal definition of an adult and what the legal age of being an adult is in your area.
> 
> If this is a problem for you, proceed at your own risk.
> 
> EDIT (02/21/21): fixed the Will and Chuckie age gap - they are now the same age to align with canon

Chuckie was kissing him, and, while Will wasn’t entirely sure how they’d gotten to this point, he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask for it to stop because he’d wanted this from the second he learned what happened when he jerked himself off under his covers after waking up with a boner for the third time in the same week as a teen. When he’d snuck his hand beneath his waistband and closed his eyes, all he’d seen was Chuckie. Of course, he hadn’t known exactly what that’d meant at the time, other than he’d liked what he’d thought about, and, the next time he’d seen Chuckie at school, he’d had to run to the bathroom with his thin winter coat in front of his crotch and try to calm down enough to come out of his hiding place.

Will wasn’t a dumb kid. Not at all. In fact, he was the exact opposite, and so after a couple of weeks and the feelings for Chuckie hadn’t gone away, Will had gone down to the local public library and found a book. Hiding behind the bookshelves with the thick history book under his arm, Will read about the Stonewall Riots and Queer Theory until the librarian told him that the library was closing in ten minutes. He’d placed the book back where he’d found it and headed back to his foster father’s home. Every day for the rest of the week, he’d gone straight to the library after school and worked his way through every book on the topic he could.

Then he’d moved on. In his imagination, Chuckie did things that real Chuckie would never do, but at school, everything went back to normal. For almost three years everything had been normal. They went to school, they went home, they stole random shit from stores, they picked fights, and they’d gotten rip-roaringly drunk on the week of their shared sixteenth birthdays. Even having to hide new and old scars under his long-sleeved shirts, making sure his only belt had been tied up tight enough for the bruises splashed across his skin wouldn’t show if he stretched hadn't changed.

He always thought that Chuckie didn’t know about what his foster father would do to him. Until tonight he’d believed that. When Will had come over to Chuckie’s house after having the ever-loving shit out of him again, Chuckie had pulled him into a hug. When he'd whispered over and over again, “it’s alright,” into the side of Will's head, he realized that he might have been fooling Morgan and Billy all these years, but never Chuckie.

“Can I see?” Chuckie had said before gently whispering, “just...just gotta make sure.”

Will thought he had understood why Chuckie had wanted to see. He’d thought that Chuckie had just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t bleeding or hadn’t broken anything along the way. He'd thought that Chuckie just wanted to make sure that he was still breathing. There was something in his eyes that Will understood though. The silent request to not say anything and just let Chuckie see the bruises and scars for himself.

When Chuckie had started tugging at his shirt, Will had been fairly certain that he’d been in too much pain to get hard, but unfortunately, the second he’d let Chuckie help him pull his arms free, all the blood in his body had rushed south and he was glad that he was sitting down on Chuckie’s lumpy and uneven mattress on the floor. Then, Chuckie had been gently touching the blossoming bruises and the ones that were purpled and yellowed already and somehow, within a half-hour of showing up on his doorstep in the middle of a Boston winter at midnight, they were kissing. It felt amazing and Chuckie was being so gentle, with Will on his back against the mattress, and somehow, this felt even better than the one time he’d accidentally smoked a joint instead of a cigarette.

Chuckie was supporting all of his weight on his arms, the muscles against Will’s hands flexing and keeping himself suspended without putting too much pressure onto Will. Then a hand was pushing at the waistband of his oversized jeans and Will added his own hands into the mix. With the fiction of boxers against boxers and Chuckie’s hand between them, Will closed his eyes and clenched his jaw hard, desperate to prevent himself from making any noise and potentially waking up Chuckie’s mom. His mom, in the room just across the hall, who, as Chuckie stuck his hand into Will’s boxers, didn’t even know Will was over.

He tries not to imagine the look on Ms. Sullivan’s face if she, a good Irish Catholic woman, thought Chuckie was jerking off or having sex with a girl in his room, only to find Will in his black and blue glory, naked, with his hand in his best friend’s boxers. How quickly she’d chase Will down the street, dressed or not, and then drag Chuckie straight to the church at the end of their street. The cold licks of fear keep Will’s jaw firmly clenched shut as he leaned up a little to catch Chuckie’s lower lip.

The upwards movement makes the new bruises forming across Will’s ribcage and stomach contract in pain, a whimper escaping against Chuckie’s lips.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Chuckie said, the hand that was formerly in Will’s boxers coming up to gently press at his sternum and coax him back against the pillows, “just let me? Okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Will muttered back.

“I want to make you feel good Will,” Chuckie whispered, “I want to. Okay?”

“What about you?” Will asked.

“Don’t worry about me Will,” Chuckie said, leaning in for a kiss, “don’t worry about me tonight.”

The hand on Will’s chest snaked back into his pants and then just everything about Chuckie was surrounding him. The smell of his room, his deodorant, his large palm against his dick, his chapped lips against his cheek. Then he was coming in his boxers, making a mess of one of the only two pairs he owned, but feeling like his brain was going to come out of his ears. His ribs didn’t hurt, his face didn’t hurt and his heart certainly didn’t hurt. Instead, as Chuckie whipped his hand off on a handful of kleenex he’d grabbed from somewhere and laid down next to him, Will on his back next to the wall, Chuckie on his side, Will felt something filling up his heart that he had never felt before.

Instead of thinking about it any longer, Will rode the wave of his orgasm and let his eyes fall closed, the pain still not coming back in full force yet and falling into a fitful sleep with Chuckie’s strong arm across his hips protectively.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I edited Will and Chuckie's ages so that they are actually the same age to align with canon. The first chapter was also updated to reflect this.

Chuckie was pretty sure he was too young to be having a heart attack. He didn’t even know if seventeen-year-olds could have heart attacks, but if it was possible, he was definitely having one right now. His chest felt tight and he felt like he wanted to throw up. His stomach violently swirling, the range of emotions going through his mind just made everything hurt even more.

The receiver of his mother's phone was laying on the floor of the kitchen and Chuckie could hear the muffled talking of his cousin but he could only feel his own hands shaking and his heart clenching painfully. He was the only one home and had been waiting for Will to walk over after dropping back to his current foster father’s place after school. It had seemed like it was taking him a while, but Chuckie had simply assumed he’d gotten caught up. He’d thrown a pizza pocket in the microwave and had just sat down to watch a rerun of some old baseball game on the television when the phone had rung.

At first, Chuckie hadn’t wanted to answer it. It wasn’t that the game was particularly interesting and his pizza pocket was still about as warm as molten lava, but he just had no particular inclination to get up off his ass after a long day of ripping apart some old building that was going to be gentrified. Gentrified. Yet another big word that Will had taught him when he’d been trying to explain what they were up to at the site.

Sometimes Chuckie wondered what would have happened had he not dropped out of school after his sophomore year, but in reality, he knew nothing would be different. He wasn’t going to be getting any smarter and there was no reason to waste time learning things he’d never need to know in preparation for working construction the rest of his life. Will, on the other hand, seemed to be getting smarter every day, coming over and hanging out on Chuckie’s mother’s couch and telling him about some random math fact he’d learned that day. Of course, Chuckie would nod along as if he understood even a fraction of what Will was saying all to be rewarded with one of his blinding smiles and perhaps even a kiss if he thought they could sneak one in.

The phone dumped the call after a half dozen rings but when the phone started ringing again not even a minute later, Chuckie threw his food onto the table and pushed himself to stand, back and leg muscles protesting the entire way up.

Shuffling over to the phone, Chuckie groaned, “Shut the fuck up.”

Picking up the receiver, Chuckie muttered, “Sullivan residence.”

“Chuckie? It's Siobahn,” his cousin’s voice over the line said and Chuckie swallowed hard.

There was usually only one reason Siobahn called over to their place nowadays. The last time had been when Will had had his collarbone broken and had been brought into the hospital. That’d been last year. The time before that had been when his father had gotten hit by a car. Stepping out into traffic was likely more accurate, but he never said that out loud to his mother or anyone else.

Siobahn was truly the only Sullivan that had managed to get an education past high school and she managed to get herself a job as an ER Nurse at Boston General. He had never really thought she was the brightest, but when his only comparison was against Will, anyone seemed dumb. Brilliant, brilliant Will who no one could get anywhere close to. Siobahn got out of Southie, did something with her life and Chuckie wished he could say he would do the same someday.

“Will got stabbed,” Siobahn said next and that was when Chuckie had dropped the phone. Scrambling to pick it up after the initial shock had worn off, Chuckie pressed the phone against the side of his head hard enough that he heard it contact sharply against his temple. He knew there would be a mark there later, but at the moment, it really didn’t matter.

All that mattered was Will. Will, who’d probably been stabbed by that bastard of a man who dared to call himself a foster father. Will, who had been coming over to Chuckie’s mother’s house for every other day for the past eight months, banged up, bloody and bruised, a hurt in his blue eyes that Chuckie didn’t even know how to name. Will, who had once whispered that he could only sleep properly next to Chuckie and how he curled up into Chuckie’s space in the middle of the night so they woke up entirely entangled in each other. Will, who was now clinging to life in a hospital bed, halfway across Southie, with Chuckie not at his side.

* * *

He thought that he’d managed to say something to Siobahn, but he wasn’t entirely sure. The next thing Chuckie remembered, he was trying to parallel park into a spot that he certainly couldn’t get his dad’s car into properly, but at the moment, a measly parking ticket wasn’t his biggest concern. Running into the hospital, Chuckie felt his throat closing up and he briefly wondered if he should tell the nurse at the desk that he was having a heart attack because based on what Will had once told him, it sure felt like it.

Then he’d been led to a waiting room and told to sit. Told that he had to wait. That they couldn’t tell him much because he wasn’t family. Chuckie wanted to argue that. He was the only family that Will had because that bastard of a foster father sure wasn’t. But he couldn’t. So he sat there, on the hard plastic chair in the lifeless waiting room, not knowing if Will was alive, not knowing what was happening aside from that he was in surgery.

Chuckie didn’t even really know what “surgery” meant. He knew some about it from watching daytime soap operas with his mom, but they wouldn’t even tell him where Will was stabbed. Though, thankfully, the nurse seemed to have taken pity on him and said that Will was a strong boy and when his injury could have quite likely killed someone else, Will was still hanging on. Still fighting.

At some point, he heard a woman’s voice call through the room, “Charles Sullivan?”

Chuckie raised his head slightly, recognizing the last name but, for the moment, having forgotten that his full first name was Charles and not Chuckie. The last time anyone had called him that, he’d been in elementary school. After that, everyone just somehow knew that his name was Chuckie. Charles had been his father’s name, and it seemed that after he passed, everyone just forgot that his first name had ever been Charles.

It seemed to him that the nurse hadn’t gotten the memo. Chuckie clued in only a couple of seconds later, pushing himself to his feet and saying, “yah, that’s me.”

“Will is out of surgery,” she reported, her accent noticeably not one that would be native to Boston, “we’re only allowing one visitor in his room at a time, but since you're the only one here, if you’d like, you can come back and see him.”

“Thanks ma’am,” Chuckie said, following her lead through a set of swinging doors down a long hallway that seemed to just go forever. Logically, Chuckie knew Boston General was a massive hospital, one of the biggest in the area, but it seemed so much bigger from the inside. It was like a maze that would never stop.

He was shown to Will’s room, the glass wall separating him from the outside world and looked inside at the sleeping blond boy. It reminded him of just that morning when Will had woken up in his bed after staying the night, the bruises littering his body much more pronounced than they had been before they’d fallen asleep.

Now, without anything covering his torso, Chuckie could see the bandage below Will’s ribcage and all the medical devices connected to the array of machines behind his head. If he didn’t look so horrible, Chuckie would have laughed and called him Darth Vader. Instead, Chuckie wanted to cry. He wasn’t the type to cry on a regular basis, but he just knew that when Will had said he had to go home after school to drop some stuff off, he should have realized that something was wrong.

Pushing the door open, Chuckie stepped into the room that smelled like the bleach they’d clean the halls at school with after a fight. He didn’t really know what he was supposed to do now. When his father had died, there’d been no hospital rooms, no machines, just a phone call that he had been pronounced dead in the Emergency Room and was being transferred to a morgue.

When Will had broken his collarbone, the bone had been set and his arm had been put into a sling, then he’d been sent home. Chuckie had walked home with him, the small blond boy stumbling a little as the medication he was on started taking its toll. This was new territory and Chuckie had no idea what he was supposed to do.

* * *

The next thing he knew, Chuckie woke with a jerk as he felt the bed he’d been resting his head on shifted a little. So he had fallen asleep. With a snort, Chuckie wiped at his eyes and raised his head, only to see Will’s confused but open blue eyes staring down at him.

“You’re here,” Will muttered, his voice sleepy and perhaps still very much drugged.

“Mhmm,” Chuckie grunted.

“Where am I?” Will asked.

“Boston General,” Chuckie replied, looking over his shoulder towards where the door to the room was still closed before gently taking Will’s hand in his own. He didn’t want to jostle whatever it was that was taped to his skin, but he wanted to feel Will. “

Oh yeah,” Will muttered cryptically before resting his head back against the pillow again, and, before Chuckie knew it, he was out like a light.

* * *

The next time Will woke, Chuckie had gone down to the cafeteria to find himself some coffee. When he’d come back to Will’s room, there were two police officers standing at the foot of his bed, one with a notepad out, seemingly taking notes on whatever Will had just said. The door had made a squeaking noise when it'd opened and the two officers turned to face Chuckie.

“Who are you?” one of the cops asked.

“Chuckie,” he’d replied dumbly, still not wrapping his head around the fact that, of course, Will had been stabbed, so, of course, there would be cops that would come to investigate it.

“Family?” the other asked.

“No,” Chuckie replied while Will said, “yes,” at the same time.

The cops looked at each other and Chuckie knew that they were skeptical. Aside from the fact that he had about half a foot on Will and had dark brown hair, they really didn’t look enough like siblings to fool two cops. Maybe if it had been Morgan in Will’s place it would have worked, but Chuckie was just holding his breath before he was asked to leave.

Instead, the younger of the two cops shrugged and said, “sit down then kid.”

Chuckie listened and took his seat where he had been before he’d woken and gone to get coffee. He looked over at Will, who looked pale and seemed to be breathing harder than someone who had just been stabbed in the gut should. It would be so easy to reach out and take Will’s hand, to ask him if he was okay, but Boston wasn’t the safest place for people like them. Maybe one day they could head out east and start fresh, but for now, he didn’t want to give the cops any reason to not listen to Will.

“You ever meet Tom Morris?” one of the cops asked.

“Will’s foster father? Yeah, once or twice,” Chuckie said with a shrug.

For the most part, he never met Will’s various foster families nowadays. When they were little and Will had stayed put with the same family for longer than a couple of months, he would get to know them a little, but recently, with Will being kicked out of the house after house, there was just no point.

“What was he like,” the same cop asked.

“Angry,” Chuckie said, one of the first adjectives that came to his mind before saying, “I dunno what to tell you, man, the dude just didn’t seem like the kind to want to raise a kid, you know?”

“What do you mean?” the cop asked, pencil still poised over his notepad.

“What else do you want me to tell you?” Chuckie said, raising his voice a little, “That the dude beats up on him almost every night? That he fuckin’ stabbed Will?! What else do you need to know?!”

“Chuckie,” WIll exclaimed, catching Chuckie’s attention and stopping his tirade before he went any farther.

“Thank you for your time gents,” the other cop said and they finally left, leaving Chuckie and Will alone again.

Once the door finally clicked shut, Chuckie immediately turned to Will and took his hand in his own. Bringing the knuckles to his lips, he pressed gentle kisses to the roughened skin there and felt the soft thumping of Will’s pulse underneath.

“I’m fine Chuck,” Will whispered, “now would it kill you to give me a proper kiss you weirdo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this is canon or not, but this story takes place when Will and Chuckie are 17. I'm saying that Will is in Grade 12, but Chuckie dropped out to do construction work.


End file.
